


Baby I'm Yours 'Til the Stars Fall From the Sky

by starfishdancer



Series: Dance Me To the End of Love [3]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Smut, Fluff without Plot, Holy Crap I Still Can't Believe I Braved Writing Smut, Older Works I'm Migrating Here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-26
Updated: 2016-06-26
Packaged: 2018-07-18 09:18:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,057
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7309210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starfishdancer/pseuds/starfishdancer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Takes place after Rachel asks to expand the family in the "Dance Me" universe.  More fluff than plot with some smut thrown in for good measure. Migrated over from Fanfiction.net.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baby I'm Yours 'Til the Stars Fall From the Sky

**Author's Note:**

> Title from "Baby I'm Yours" by Arctic Monkeys.

"Is your homework dome, Pumpkin?"

Rachel doesn't have to look up from loading the dishes into the dishwasher to know Beth and Noah are sharing an incredulous look across the table. Though perhaps Beth won't be able to catch her father's eye, since he's fairly busy tearing into his third helping of dessert. Honestly, if she didn't know exactly how he was burning his calories, she'd wonder why he didn't get fat.

"Mom, it's Friday," Beth says very patiently, like she's explaining a very complicated concept to a small child. It's very like the tone Rachel used to adopt with her when she was a little girl with all kinds of questions, some harder to answer truthfully than others, though she and Noah have always made a point of being honest with Beth.

"Yeah, babe, s' _Friday,"_  her husband says through a mouthful of blueberry crisp.

"Yes, it's Friday," Rachel says, hiding her smile behind a mug of tea raised to her lips. "And tomorrow night you have your recital and Sunday you have a soccer practice, and you'll inevitably be tired afterward."

"I got most of it done on the bus," Beth promises as she clears her plate and Noah's without being asked. "I just have a couple of math problems left and, like, half a chapter of my novel. Easy peasy."

She puts the dishes in the dishwasher, then wraps her skinny arms around Rachel's waist, reaching her chin up to her mom's shoulder. Just shy of her twelfth birthday, she's nearly as tall as Rachel already, and is just going to get taller. Beth sticks out her lower lip, wide hazel eyes pleading.

"Pretty please, Mom?"

"Alright, Pumpkin," Rachel says as Beth beams. " _If_  you promise you'll get your homework done before soccer practice, and  _if_ Sela's mom is okay with it."

"I will, and she is, she'll even stop to pick me up on the way home from Sela's lessons," Beth swears. She squeezes Rachel tightly, lifts her a little off the floor until she laughs. "You're the best mom ever!"

When her feet are back on the ground, Rachel hugs Beth back to her, then brushes a hand through her short, blonde strands affectionately. The pixie cut is new; she'd asked for a more grown up look before she turns twelve, so Rachel had taken Beth with her to her stylist and watched as the long ponytail had been snipped at the nape for donation, then the rest trimmed into a cute pixie cut that makes her bone structure pop. She still has Quinn's delicate features, though Rachel sees more of Noah in her every day. The eyes, the athletic build, the stubborn jaw.

"Go pack you bag, baby girl," Noah says, then turns to Rachel. "I'll call Bev to make sure it's okay."

Beth claps her hands and bounces on her toes, mannerisms she's picked up from Rachel and which amuses Noah to no end (nature versus nuture his ass). Then she rushes off to her room, presumably to stuff a change of clothes and her toothbrush into a backpack. In her absence, Noah takes the opportunity to playfully smack Rachel's ass as he leans past her to grab his phone off the counter. He slings his arm around her to pull her closer as he makes the call, smiling down at her when she leans up on her toes to press her lips to the hinge of his jaw. He hadn't bothered to shave today, and you'd never know it with her history of clean cut boyfriends, but she secretly likes the rugged look on him best. Though given the way he nuzzles at her neck so she can feel the scruff scrape against her skin, she suspects he's on to her.

"S'all good with Bev and Cal," he says as she runs a hand over the front of his t-shirt, his abs flexing under her touch. "It's our turn next weekend, though. It's their anniversary."

"I think they may have planned this," Rachel smiles.

"Maybe, but can't say I'm going to complain about getting some extra alone time with my wife," Noah says, leaning down to kiss her gently. Her arms come up to drape loosely around his neck as the kiss intensifies, as they always seem to.

"Gross," Beth says. "Do you have to do that?"

"Yes," Noah says as Rachel reluctantly pulls away. They aren't about to get carried away in front of their daughter, obviously, but they don't shy away from being affectionate with one another either. They have a healthy, loving relationship, and seeing that demonstrated on a day-to-day basis is certainly not going to harm Beth, whatever she thinks in her pre-teen squeamish phase.

Despite one or two sighs, the three of them get a start on a few chores while they wait for Beth's ride. Rachel begins soaking the dinner pots in a sink full of soapy water and washes the counter while Beth tidies the living room and Noah throws a load of whites in the washing machine. Then Sela is ringing the doorbell and she and Noah are waving Beth off until tomorrow afternoon.

Rachel moves back to the sink as Noah bolts the door and slides the chain into place. She's just dipping her hands into the soapy water when Noah's hands are around her waist and he's lifting her unceremoniously over his shoulder.

"Noah," she breathes through helpless laughter. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Beth's gone for the night," he says as he pats her behind affectionately. "You're wasting prime baby-makin' time."

"But the dishes!"

Her protest is half-hearted. He knows that. He tosses her gently onto the mattress and grins at her roguishly. "Priorities, babe."

She giggles a little as he winks at her. She leans up on her elbows to watch him as he digs through his sock drawer. She's a little confused until he makes a triumphant noise and pulls out a CD, which he promptly loads into the stereo on top of his dresser. As the disc starts to whirr, he pulls his t-shirt over his head and she takes a moment to appreciate his sculpted chest. Then the strains of Marvin Gaye are filling the room.

"Oh my God," she breathes out on a laugh. "Is that 'Let's Get It On'?"

"Yeah, babe," he grins at her. "S'our baby making mix. I burned it special."

She tips her head back as she laughs, holds her hand out to him. He takes it and lets her tug him down onto the bed with her. She curls her hand around his forearm as his fingers snakes behind her neck to pull her into a kiss, then she slides both her hands to his shoulders as he unbuttons her blouse. He pulls her up to straddle his knees without breaking the kiss so he can smooth the material off her shoulders. One hand tangles in her hair while the other makes quick work of her bra. He tosses it in the direction of the floor, tilts her head so he can find that spot on her neck that makes her crazy even as he palms one of her breasts.

While his mouth is busy pressing hot, wet kisses on the path toward her other breast, she reaches down and undoes his jeans, slides the zipper down and her hand inside. He's going commando. It doesn't surprise her.

"Baby," he says.

"Mmm," she hums, kissing his collar bone.

"Nothing," he says. "Just... baby."

He catches her lips again as he shoves his jeans down, then maneuvers her so she's on her back again. He kisses his way down her stomach, playfully nips at her hip bone and her ankles then back up to her inner thigh as he slides her jeans and panties down her legs. Then his mouth is on her and she can't even find the words to comment on his next song choice. Can't do much more than grip the bed sheets and gasp out his name.

He sends her over the edge twice before he makes his way back up her body with teasing slowness. She's still quivering with tiny aftershocks and he's just getting started, she knows. They've been trying for just over six months, and while she can honestly say that they had a very active sex life before she told him she wanted to have his baby, it pales in comparison now that he's 'on a mission to knock her up' (his words).

"You good, baby?" he asks as he fits himself between her thighs. She can only tremble an he just grins at her. "Yeah, you're good, babe."

"Noah," she pants against his neck, turns her head a little to kiss him between breaths.

"You feel so good, babe," he says, brushing sweaty bangs from her eyes. He adjusts her thighs around his hips just a little, changes the angle just a little and she feels that slow burn begin to build again in response. "Don't you feel good, babe?"

"Yes," she hisses. Her hands find themselves gripping his biceps where he's braced over her, her breath coming in desperate gasps as he thrusts slowly, purposefully into her. It doesn't take long before her eyes are fluttering closed and he's kissing the cry from her mouth as her orgasm overtakes her. He follows closely after her, his lips against her collarbone.

She can't help but giggle a little breathlessly when she can hear again, and discerns exactly what song is playing. She slaps playfully at his shoulders. "I can't believe you put Color Me Badd on this!"

"It's a classic, babe." She can feel him smiling against her skin. He rolls off of her, and she misses the weight of him. He moves her to curl against his chest as he catches his breath, running a hand idly up and down her back.

"Gonna go throw the whites in the dryer, baby," he says after a minute. "Don't move. You gotta rest up for round two."

"You don't need a rest for round two?" she teases.

"Nuh-uh," he says, giving her ass a playful swat as he sits up. "Round two, you're gonna be on top."

Much later, when the CD is long over and she's completely lost track of how many rounds they managed, she lies wrapped in his arms with her back pressed to his chest. She's just listening to him breathe.

"Noah?" she whispers into the darkness.

"Yeah, baby?" he murmurs softly. She thought he might be sleeping, but instead he seems content to be awake, holding her.

"What happens if I can't have a baby? I know it's only been six months and the literature all says it can take a year, but..."

"Shhh," he whispers back, kissing her shoulder. "I thought we decided we weren't going to even worry about it until that year is up."

"I know," she says. "But what if our year passes and I still can't... We've got Beth, so we know it can't be you. It has to be me that's the problem."

"You're not a problem, sweetheart. No matter what happens."

"I just want don't want to let you down," she says softly. "I know Shelby had trouble, and... and what if it's genetic?"

He kisses her shoulder again, pulls her a little closer. "Babe, Shelby didn't have trouble getting pregnant. Got proof right here. She had some surgery after, you know that. So you don't need to worry about that being a factor."

"I know, but what if-"

"No what ifs for at least a year, babe," he cuts her off. "We talked about this. No what ifs and no tests and no stress about any of this for at least a year, just lots of fun trying. And don't we have fun trying?"

"Yes," she admits. He seems to take that as another green light, because his fingers are slipping between her legs again.

"You have an annual check up in a couple of weeks," he says, tracing an idle pattern that quickens her breathing. "If it will make you feel better, ask your doctor. She'll tell you there's nothing to worry about just yet."

"That sounds like a good idea," she says, then moans as he presses against her just right.

"No matter what happens, we'll figure it out. And in the mean time," he says, pulling her thigh up over his so he can slide back into her, "why don't we have a little more fun?"

She's sitting in the examining room, wearing one of those ridiculous paper gowns that leaves so little to the imagination she might as well be naked. The nurse has already taken her height, weight and other vitals, and now she's just waiting for her doctor to come in. The room is cold and she shivers a little, rubbing the goose bumps from her arms.

"Ah, Rachel Berry," Dr. Kleinfeld says, breezing into the room. "Sorry I took so long."

Dr. Kleinfeld is a redhead just shy of her forties, which you couldn't tell but for the laugh lines crinkled behind her reading glances.

"That's alright," Rachel says politely. "My dad is a general practitioner, I know things don't always run strictly to schedule."

"That's right, I remember you mentioning that once," Dr. Kleinfeld says, glancing down the chart before tucking her stethoscope into her ears and placing the cold chest piece against Rachel's bare skin. "Sorry."

She instructs Rachel to inhale and exhale, makes a note on the chart and then pulls out the otoscope.

"So, it's been a year already," Dr. Kleinfeld says as she looks into Rachel's ears, then, "open."

Rachel obeys, and the doctor looks at her throat, nods approvingly. The doctor moves her hands to check out the thyroid, tests Rachel's reflexes, and performs all the routine checks Rachel has come to associate with her annual physical.

"Well, so far everything looks fairly normal, Rachel. I assume we're going to renew your ortho tri-cyclen prescription today?"

"Actually... no."

"No? Are you having trouble with it or are you trying to get pregnant?"

"We're trying," Rachel confirms, can't help the little smile that slips to her lips.

"That's wonderful," Dr. Kleinfeld smiles back.

"The thing is," Rachel hesitates, then plunges on. "The thing is, we've been trying. Trying a lot, actually. And I'm starting to worry that, well, that is isn't going to happen for me."

"For you, or for you both?"

"For me. Our daughter, Beth, is Noah's biologically. So, if there's anything wrong, it's wrong with me."

"Hmmm," the doctor says. "And how long have you been trying?"

"About seven months," Rachel says. "Give or take."

"And you were taking your ortho right up until then?"

"Yes."

"Well, Rachel, it can take a few months for your cycle to get back to normal after the birth control hormones leave your system, and then up to a year on top of that for you to get pregnant, even if you are perfectly healthy. I can do some tests, but I do think they are probably premature at this point."

Rachel breathes a sigh of relief. "No, no, that's alright. I think I just needed to hear..."

"That these things take time. What I will do is write you a prescription for some vitamins, and I am going to make one recommendation."

"It's not a position thing, is it?" Rachel blushes. "Because we have that covered."

"No," the doctor laughs. "There's no doctor prescribed position. In fact, there's no reliable scientific study about that, as far as I know. Whatever you're doing should be fine, especially if you're doing it regularly."

"Very," Rachel says automatically, then reddens again. She's fairly certain her doctor doesn't need to know the details of her sex life. She changes the subject quickly. "You said there was one recommendation?"

When Noah comes home from work later that day, he finds her in the kitchen with Beth, who is sitting at the island counter with her science text and notes spread about her. She's munching away happily on a bowl of chips, which he's a little surprise by, since Rachel doesn't usually let them keep junk food in the house.

"Dinner smells good, Rach," he says, coming up behind her to kiss her neck. "How was your appointment?"

"It was good," Rachel says, tilting her head to give him better access.

"Are those black bean burritos?" he asks. "And do I smell cookies?"

"Mmmhmm," Rachel said.

"She's been a crazy person in the kitchen, dad," Beth says. "She promised she isn't dying, but she bought three kinds of ice cream. Three kinds, and at least one of them is the real kind, not that soy stuff she eats."

"Babe?" Noah lets a little worry creep into his voice.

"It's nothing to worry about," she says.

"Okay, now you've got me more worried," Noah says.

"I'm too skinny!" Rachel blurts.

"What?"

"I'm too skinny," Rachel repeats. "I've lost six pounds since last year's appointment, and Dr. Kleinfeld says I was already on the low end of healthy. I've always had a low body fat percentage, which is good considering the industry I work in, but she said I could stand to put on at least 10 pounds."

"Babe, are you telling me your doctor told you to eat, like, chips and stuff?"

"Well, not exactly, but she did indicate that perhaps my dietary restrictions can be relaxed a little."

"Dad, does this mean you're going to show her where our secret stash in the garage is?"

His daughter is a cheeky little shit disturber. He's a bit proud of her, even though now he's shrugging sheepishly and fending off Rachel's tiny, ineffectual little swats at his shoulders.

"Baby," he laughs at her, catching her wrists and pulling her to his chest. "Imma man. I can't live off carrot sticks and celery."

"I can't believe you!" she says, though it is muffled in his chest.

"Don't worry, babe," he says. "Just means I know how to feed you up."

He brings up her appointment again when they are getting ready for bed. She's turning back the covers to crawl in when he comes up behind her, fingers playing with the hem of the tank top she'd put on for bed.

"So, the doctor said there's nothing to worry about, right? You weren't just putting on a good face for Beth?"

"No," she says. "Everything looks fine. All she said is that I might have an easier time getting pregnant if I put on some weight, but even so, I have months before I need to start worrying about anything being wrong. You were right."

"Say that again."

"You were right," she says grudgingly.

"Oh, baby," he mock groans. "You don't know what those words do to me."

"You're an ass," she laughs as he pushes her flannel pyjama bottoms down her hips.

"Yeah, baby," he says as he nudges her to lean over, braces his hands over hers against the headboard. "But I'm your ass."

It's not easy for her to just relax, let things happen as they are going to happen. She's a planner, a worrier. But the man she promised 'til death do them part is the epitome relaxed, go with the flow, spontaneous even. He makes it seem so easy, until it is easy. She promised another six months before she starts taking her temperature or tests, lets Noah have his way. She can give it six months.

It turns out she doesn't quite have to. Some ten months after they first start trying, they are successful. So it figures she doesn't notice right away, thinks she's come down with a stomach virus when she wakes up one morning and the smell of toast in the kitchen sends her running to the bathroom.

In her defense, both Noah and Beth had taken turns being ill in the weeks beforehand, and she's not even late when she starts feeling nauseous. And it is worse than anything she ever imagined morning sickness might feel like, because she's one of the one percent of pregnant women who gets hyperemesis gravidarum. They actually find out she's pregnant after Noah takes her to the emergency room when she passes out from dehydration, and she ends up there once more in the first trimester before her doctor finds a dosage that works for her.

Noah and Beth worry about her a lot, especially in those first two months where she can't seem to keep anything down and actually loses weight rather than gains. Among other things, it results in a panicked phone call from Kurt from Paris at an ungodly hour when she's about six weeks along. She finally finally felt well enough to leave the apartment and meet a girlfriend for coffee, an her picture ends up on Perez Hilton's blog with speculation about whether she's on drugs or just anorexic. If the "what is going on, Rachel Barbra" phone didn't wake up Noah, the sound of Kurt's excited squeals over the line certainly did.

Things take a turn for the better as she moves out of the first trimester and into the second She still has the occasional bought of nausea, but she's keeping most things down now, and her body has begun to change a little. It's not much, even at 15 weeks, but she can tell that her waist is a little thicker. Noah probably can, too, but if so, he's (perhaps wisely) keeping that information to himself. Her breasts have also gotten bigger, which he has commented on. Repeatedly. So, apparently, has the press: Kurt recently sent an email with the subject line "LOL" that contained nothing but a link to a TMZ article that speculates her hospitalization was actually for an augmentation. As though she'd seriously consider surgically altering her body (a little lapse in judgement in high school aside).

No one has speculated pregnancy.

She supposes it might have come up if she was a little more prominent in the media. While she's fairly well known in Broadway circles and her continued songwriting has led to some royalties that range from pitiful to fairly decent, she isn't exactly a Hollywood A-lister. Still, she's started to get a little buzz for some of her projects, things she'd filmed before she was pregnant that are just starting to emerge. She filmed a couple of guest spots on some TV shows, and one of her stints on a popular show about rival mob families has seen fan outcry for her return. (She played a med student who saves the life of one of the caporegime when she's on hand at a shoot out in the street, and though the chemistry between the characters was unintended, her agent has hinted there could be a longer arc coming her way. She's hoping they get a move on deciding, because pretty soon the writers are going to have a whole new plot twist to work with, or else she'll be standing behind a lot of potted plants.) She filmed an indie film that is expected to premiere at Sundance, and  _How the Light Gets In_  was released in theatres just in time for the Academy Award cut off dates. So she's not totally unknown, but neither is she the subject of any bump watches on any celebrity blogs.

Her pregnancy is not exactly a big secret. Their families are ecstatic (both Noah's mother and Rachel's daddy seem to be competing over who can make the most baby quilts), and she and Noah have told close friends now that they are out of the danger zone. Beth has known since that first stay in the hospital, and Rachel is relieved that she seems quite excited at the prospect of becoming a big sister. Beth's best friend knows as well; given the amount of time Sela spends at the house, it would be impossible for her not to know.

Take now, for instance. It's Friday night, and Beth and Sela are playing a board game at the kitchen table while they waiting for Noah to come home so they can watch movies and order pizza. Rachel is leaning against the counter with a jar of peanut butter, which she is spreading on slices of pickles. Sela and Beth both look up and watch her with matching expressions of horrified fascination as Rachel hums and gleefully spreads on another glob.

She can hear the bolts on the door unlatching, and then Noah is coming into the kitchen.

"Do I even want to know what she's eating?" he asks when he catches a look at the girls' faces.

"Probably not, Mr. P.," Sela says.

"It's delicious," Rachel says through her mouthful.

"At least she's not crying," Beth says blithely.

It's true. Her hormones are all over the place these days. Some of it Noah enjoys a great deal. The crying? Not so much. She cries all the time right now; just about anything can set off the waterworks. She cried when Beth's mid-semester report came back with straight As. She cried when she was too sick to have cake on her birthday. She cried when her dads sent her flowers for no reason. Last week, she cried at a McDonald's commercial, and when Noah laughed she threw a pillow at his head and told him he could sleep on the couch that night. Then she cried because she felt bad about yelling at him and telling him to sleep on the couch. Yes, she's completely all over the place.

"Can you call for pizza, honey?" she says, reaching for another pickle. "The girls want half pepperoni, half Hawaiian on theirs."

"And what does the bump want?" Noah says. "Besides pickles and peanut butter."

"Philly Cheese Steak," Rachel admits. It figures the child of her carnivore husband refuses to let her stay vegan. She's managed to mostly keep up her eating habits, and she fully intends to return to her regular diet as soon as the baby is born, but given how bad her morning sickness is, she decided early on that if a particular food has a shot at staying down, she might as well make peace with delving in.

"Yes!" says Noah, throwing his hands up in the air (last week he got stuck with plain cheese). Philly Cheese Steak is his favourite, with the bacon cheese burger running a close second, though she has no doubt he will also polish off whatever Beth and Sela don't finish regardless of where those pizzas fall on the list. "How about those cinnamon things with the icing?"

He calls and makes the order, and she kisses his cheek when he orders two bottles of ginger ale as well as cola, since it usually helps settle her stomach and they ran out yesterday. She rubs peanut butter off his face with her thumb, then pops it in her mouth. He kisses her forehead and tells her he's going to jump in the shower, since he still smells a little of engine grease, when the phone rings in his hand.

"It's Steven," he says, and passes the phone to her and makes his way toward the bedroom.

She greets her agent, then asks why he's calling her. When he tells her, she promptly dissolves into tears.

"Oh, shit," Beth says, then apologizes automatically for the profanity. "Dad, dad, you gotta come back here!"

Noah rushes back in to find both Sela and Beth patting his wife awkwardly. "Baby, what's wrong?"

"Nothing," she says, smiling through her tears. "Steven called to tell me they are putting together the Oscar's program, and  _How the Light Gets In_  is nominated for an Oscar. Best Original Song, for the new one they wrote for the movie. Noah, they want me to sing it. Out of all the cast, they want me to sing it."

It's kind of incredible, since she's the least known of all of them and the only one of the Broadway cast to be asked to reprise her role. It's normally the kind of thing they'd toast with champagne, but instead they pour their soda in fancy flutes and clink them together. They end up skipping the movie in favour of googling designers, and Rachel swears she's never seen her tomboy daughter so interested in dresses in her life. She almost regrets sending Kurt an email with the news, but she knows he'll find out regardless, so she might as well let him weigh in on who she should wear.

Kurt does point her in the right direction, in the form of a brand new designer who cries when she approaches him to dress her for the Oscars. He cries a second time after he realises his form-fitting suggestions are going out the window. She ends up picking one she knows she's going to get flack for, because it doesn't make a particularly bold statement, though the back is incredibly low cut and a bra is going to be out of the question. White material flows straight own from a heavily beaded collar, and the wispy fabric drops in a way that totally masks her baby bump, which is definitely visible now that she is 23 weeks along. She and Noah aren't actively trying to hide her pregnancy, and they have no plans to deny it should anyone ask. Still, they figure the longer it takes someone to ask, the better.

Of course, things never go as planned. She and Noah are making their way up the red carpet (she wouldn't miss it for the world, nausea or not, and besides, her husband looks amazing in a tux), stopping to chat with the occasional reporter who flags her down. She's holding Noah's hand and just chatting about her dress with someone from Entertainment Tonight when Anne Hathaway, who was her co-star and the headlining lady in her movie, sees her and comes to interrupt her interview.

"I hope you don't mind, I haven't seen Rach since the premiere" she says, grinning widely, then wrapping her arms around Rachel's waist, and the tiny camouflaged baby bump all of a sudden might as well be a beacon. "Holy crap, you're pregnant!" she breathes.

Rachel smiles, because what else can she do, leans up to press her lips to Noah's when his hand comes to hover protectively over her mid-section. "Yes," she says simply, resting her hand over Noah's. "We're pregnant."

The song doesn't win the Oscar and there's barely any comment on her (decidedly brilliant) performance of it because the press is all over Annie's accidental reveal (which even gets remixed with autotune and goes viral, and Beth finds it hilarious even though Annie is so horrified she apologizes no fewer than six times), but Rachel's never cared less. She's having a baby. How can anything else matter?

"Dad, I think you need to come home," Beth's worry comes through loud and clear over the cell phone, even though she's speaking in a hushed tone.

"What's wrong, baby girl?" he asks, glancing at his co-workers who seem to get that something is going on, because the talk in the break room ceases.

"I think Mom's in labour. She keeps saying it's Braxton Hicks, but Dad, I don't think it is. I looked it up online, and I think the contraction things are too long and too quick together."

"How long, and how close together?"

"I don't know, like, more than a minute, and ten minutes apart, tops. And she won't go to the hospital."

"I'll be there as soon as I can," he promises. "We're probably okay if they are ten minutes apart, but if they get closer together, you gotta try to get your mom to the hospital."

"She won't go, dad," she says.

"Fake appendicitis if you have to," Noah says. "In the meantime, I'll be there as fast as the subway will take me."

He hangs up the phone, tells his boss he's going home because he's fairly certain his wife is in labour. Gage, who has three kids of his own, just waves him off and tells him to call from the hospital if he needs anything.

It takes him 32 minutes to get home, and he nearly shreds the seat on the subway out of nerves. He's got four worried texts from Beth as soon as he has a signal, and he races the three blocks to their brownstone as fast as his feet will take him. Beth throws the door open as soon as he's coming up the stairs, her soccer stopwatch clutched in one hand.

"They are just over six minutes apart," she says. "She won't... she just keeps saying it's Braxton Hicks, and it's perfectly normal."

"I'm here," he says. "I got it."

He sends Beth to pack an overnight bag for herself, since he'll be calling Bev and Cal on the way to the hospital. Rachel packed her overnight bag last week even though it is early, because the baby book told her to do as much. He's never been more glad his wife is a stickler for the rules. Speaking of his wife, he finds her doubled over in the living room, tears leaking from the sides of her eyes as she whimpers.

"Baby," he says gently, pushing her bangs off her forehead. Her eyes flutter open and she shakes her head.

"No, no, no," she says. "It's just Braxton Hicks. I'm only 35 weeks along. Noah, we haven't even confirmed our birthing plan!"

"Rachel, sweetheart, I'm pretty sure this isn't Braxton Hicks," he says, taking her hand in his, wincing a little when her tiny hand squeezes hard.

"It's too early," she says, taking a deep breath as the contraction seems to ease off. "Noah, it's too early. It's not part of the plan and I am not prepared for this!"

"I know, baby, but it looks like the bump is keep a schedule of its own." He puts his arm around her and helps her sit up. "C'mon, let's get you to a hospital."

The taxi gets them to the hospital in record time, perhaps because the last thing he wants is to have to clean up if Rachel gives birth in his back seat. Before they know it, they are making their way to the emergency room and his wife is being checked in to a fortunately available private room.

It all passes in a blur, for the most part. When Rachel's labour stretches well into the evening, Bev convinces Beth to come home with her to get some sleep, promising she'd bring her back first thing in the morning. He hates seeing Rachel in so much pain, but the anesthesiologist is delayed to the point where he can't even make his wife change her mind and go for the drugs. She doesn't curse him out, like he expected from all the movies. Instead, she cries out that this is so much worse than she thought it would and how the books did not properly prepare her for this. He wipes her forehead with a damp cloth, feeds her ice chips, and wishes he could do more. It's all worth it when their baby makes her appearance, wailing as loudly as her tiny lungs can manage.

"Definitely your child," Noah teases then kisses Rachel as the doctor passes the wriggling, red-faced infant to lay on Rachel's chest. Caroline Constance is 5 pounds, 3 ounces of perfection if he's ever seen it, and strong and healthy despite her early appearance.

"You're here," Rachel sobs. "You made it. Noah, our baby made it. Oh, she's so beautiful. Isn't she the most beautiful thing you've ever seen?"

He's inclined to agree, at least until later that afternoon, when he wakes up from snoozing in the uncomfortable hospital chair and blinks at the sight of his three girls curled together, Beth fast asleep on Rachel's hospital bed. Rachel smiles at him sleepily as she leans over to drop a kiss on Beth's temple. He may not have gotten his family in the most conventional of ways, but it all turned out pretty perfectly. He sends out a thank you, not for the first time, to Shelby, wherever she is, for getting it right in the end.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes please to all the comments.


End file.
